Bruises On Your Knees
by taylorpotato
Summary: Lestrade notices how John Watson lets Sherlock order him around. He notices, and thinks it's a crime that John's natural talents as a submissive are going to waste. He sets about correcting the situation in the natural way. Football, drinking, and loads of kinky gay sex. Explicit. Johnstrade.


_**Fair warning: BDSM, men sexing each other in lots of ways, spanking, biting, happy drunk times, and surrender play. Some parts might be read as dub con. So if you don't like that, be careful. Also, pardon the weird page breaks. But those aren't working in the main body of the story for some reason, so I had to get creative.**_

It started when Lestrade watched John hand Sherlock his phone. Because Sherlock's phone was in that tall bastard's coat pocket and he couldn't be bothered to reach for it. John dug around for it, and pressed it into Sherlock's palm easy as you please.

And _that_ was just wasted potential.

After Lestrade noticed the first time, he couldn't stop noticing. How Sherlock said _shoot_ and John didn't ask questions. He just pulled the trigger.

It was beautiful because it wasn't even a conscious thing. John didn't seem to realize he was letting an asexual lunatic top him like they were in a full time contract. And Sherlock wasn't even interested in the fun part. He ordered John around because he found it convenient, not because he enjoyed it. John followed him around like a puppy because… well, Greg couldn't exactly figure out why. He thought it had something to do with being an adrenaline junky. But also, perhaps, because Sherlock was pretty. His prettiness got wasted, just liked his dominance, because he had no interest in people unless they died under bizarre circumstances.

Greg, however, was very interested. He often caught himself staring at John's arse. At his mouth. Wondering what it would be like to shove a soldier down on his knees. Probably thrilling.

And John was quite fit, after all. Perhaps he was a bit soft around the middle. But he still had strong arms and strong legs from the intense military training. Wide, expressive eyes, and the sort of smile you only got from years of behaving badly. Greg spent more time than he would admit wondering what John would look like naked.

But then again, maybe it was just the fresh sting of divorce getting to him. Making him a bit mad. Because it's always easy to find somebody when you're already in a relationship. He and Carol had been open about everything, for years and years.

But then she decided she liked one of her other, younger, boys better, and cut him loose. It hurt. Because he'd thought, no matter what, he'd always have somebody to go home to at night. He thought, that even though they messed about with other people, they both meant something special to each other.

Ah, well.

He could look at John. He could admire. But he probably wouldn't do anything about it. Not right then, anyway. Partly because John liked to talk an awful lot about how he wasn't gay. Mostly because he was also too delicious to simply pick up on the rebound.

[][][][][][]

After a few months had passed, after Greg had worked out a bit of his rejection through a series of one-night stands, and after John's girlfriend Sarah had dumped him—Greg invited the army doctor to play some football.

It wasn't much. Just a pickup game in the park, with some of Greg's old mates from university. They did it at least once a month. Just for laughs. No pressure.

John said yes.

He showed up at the park on Saturday afternoon in an old jersey and some jeans. They split into teams. John offered to be Greg's goalie. And he wasn't half bad at it.

They kicked the ball around for a few hours. Greg tried to be on his best game. He'd always been fairly good at football. He used to play in a club more regularly, but as he got promoted within NSY, he'd had less and less time.

Still. He scored the point that ended up winning them the game. John congratulated him. Flushed and smiling.

After they finished playing, they always went out for a pint at a nearby pub. John tagged along, and Greg tried not to get too excited about it. They all sat down at the bar in a long row. Greg, of course, snagged the seat next to John. He also bought John's pint. Despite the doctor's protests.

They all chatted aimlessly. About various teams. Greg and John got to talking a bit about one of the cases Sherlock had recently solved. The conversation flowed easily. Seamlessly.

Maybe John didn't notice it, or didn't read into it, whenever Greg clapped him on the shoulder or stared at him just a bit too long. As the late afternoon turned into early evening, the other men gradually made their excuses. After all, most of them had wives and children to go home to. Eventually it was just Greg and John. More than a few pints deep. John had a lazy grin slung across his face. Everything was warm, bright, and fuzzy at the edges.

It seemed natural, to suggest they go back to Greg's flat and watch the new episode of Top Gear that they'd both managed to miss because of a case. Greg had it taped. He also had an ample liquor cabinet.

Perhaps he should have felt guilty. Because in the end, it was so very easy to get John to come home with him.

Even if it was under slightly false pretenses, John was there on Greg's couch, with a glass of whiskey in his hand, more than tipsy, but not completely plastered. Greg flicked on his DVR and hit the play button. He turned off the lights and settled back onto the couch. A bit closer than he'd been originally. The television cast a dull illumination over them. Greg hardly paid attention to it. Mostly he stared at John's lips. At his lovely smile. And when John turned his head, and caught Greg staring, he didn't seem to know what to do.

"Um... hi there," John chuckled. "Have I got something on my face?"

"No," Greg shrugged.

John shifted on the couch slightly. The room felt warmer. Greg's heart pounded in his chest. Perhaps it was the liquid courage. Perhaps John looked like prey. Small, folded in on himself, a bit uncertain. And when something looked like prey... Greg usually pounced.

Still, he did it slowly. Slid his hand from where it rested between them on the sofa over to John's leg. Not too far up his thigh. But the intention was unmistakable. John startled slightly. But he didn't push Greg away.

And really, that was half the battle.

"Um... Greg... I'm not... you know I'm not actually gay," John said awkwardly.

"You don't have to be," Greg smiled, calm and easy. "There's a lot of room to wander, I think. But I see the way you let Sherlock order you around. You must get off on it at least a little bit. Otherwise, why would you put up with it?"

John didn't have an immediate response. His body language read flustered. Embarrassed. But not exactly turned off.

Greg flexed his fingers then slid his hand upwards. Not very far. Just a few centimeters. Enough to make a point. "I think I might make taking orders a bit more fun than Sherlock does."

John's tongue flicked out along his lower lip. He looked away. He was breathing a bit faster. He still hadn't pushed Greg's hand off. He still hadn't said _no, stop._

"You're a bit curious, aren't you?" Greg almost purred.

"I... god. This is mad, isn't it? We practically work together. I mean... this would make things weird, wouldn't it?"

"I dunno. Are you usually weird about this sort of thing?"

"I'm not even sure I know what sort of thing you're suggesting."

Greg leaned in, close, so that his lips brushed against the shell of John's ear as he whispered. "I'm suggesting you let me take you apart bit by bit until you're nothing but a mess of sensation. You won't be able to tell the pain from the pleasure, because you'll crave them both. I'm suggesting that I'll do terrible things to you... and you'll let me... because you get off on being pushed around and I get off on power."

John shivered. Greg could feel it. He'd won. Then again, he usually did.

The smaller man turned his head slightly. Greg cupped his chin and guided him the rest of the way. Their lips met. Just a soft press. And then Greg flicked his tongue out. John opened his mouth easily and let Greg taste him. Their tongues slid together tantalizingly. And then, the kiss devolved from slow and gentle, to wet, and hot, and savage.

Greg pushed John back, sprawling him across the couch and laid on top of him. The smaller man groaned as Greg grazed his teeth across the skin on his neck. The he bit down where John's neck met his shoulder. Hard. Hard enough to leave a bruise. John made a little choked sound.

Then Greg kissed him again. Deep, and demanding, the way he'd like to fuck him. John bucked upwards unconsciously, and Greg felt the decided beginnings of an erection. He Grinned and rolled his hips. Slow. And then with a bit more intention. Their cocks ground against each other, separated by just a few layers of fabric.

"What do you want, John?" Greg asked in a low growl. This first time would most likely be the only time he asked. Because he had to make sure he wasn't pushing too hard or too fast.

"Oh god... I... fuck..." John breathed. He clutched at Greg. Trying to pull him closer, even though it wasn't really possible to be pressed together more firmly than they already were.

Greg nipped at John's lower lip. The he sat back on his heels. He popped the button of John's jeans open and tugged down the zip. He pulled down the waistband of John's pants. John lifted himself, enough for Greg to get his trousers around his thighs.

And then it was so easy. Greg wrapped a hand around John's prick and began to stroke him slowly. John made the most enticing little noises. He didn't seem to notice when Greg unbuttoned his own trousers. He only began to comprehend the situation when Greg was once again lying on top of him, sliding their naked cocks together.

"_Fuck_," John gasped.

Greg stole more filthy kisses from his perfect mouth. They rutted lazily, without much focus. Until things became a bit more feverish. Until the kiss got utterly sloppy with desire, and John grabbed Greg's arse and bucked up against him, seeing out more friction.

Then, when John was nonverbally begging for it, Greg slid a hand between them. He wrapped it around both their cocks, and began to thrust more earnestly. John let out a quick breath. Oh yes. He seemed to be quite enjoying himself.

Greg bit him again, mostly for symmetry's sake, on the other side of his neck. John whined, and panted, and started trying to meet Greg's motions. It was glorious. Chaotic. Full of potential energy.

The tension began to build deep inside Greg. Roiling. Spreading through him as an unbearable sort of anticipation. If the frequency of John's tiny whimpers was any indication, the doctor was getting close as well.

"That's it," Greg growled, "are you going to be a good little slut and come for me?"

John responded by promptly going still, letting out one loud grunt, and spilling between them. The stickiness smeared across their shirts. Greg finished himself off quickly. Raced over the cliff, chasing a beautiful orgasm. The pleasure rolled through him in wonderful, delirious waves as he added his come to the mess on John's jersey.

He thought it best to pull back and give John a bit of space. Greg tucked himself back into his trousers and zipped them up. Then he removed his shirt. Because the stickiness would become decidedly less pleasant as it grew cold.

John sat up after a few minutes. He pulled up his jeans and zipped them. He didn't seem to know what to do with his come-smeared jersey.

"If you want I can throw that in the wash for you," Greg shrugged. "You can borrow one of my shirts in the meantime."

"It would probably be a bit big on me... and I don't even want to think about what Sherlock would say if I walked back into the flat wearing your clothes."

"I bet you he'd say something even nastier if you went home wearing a shirt with come stains on it," Greg laughed. "You could stay if you like. I mean, if you don't want to go home. There's a washer and dryer downstairs. We could fix that for you in the morning."

John looked uncertain. Perhaps he was starting to sober up a bit and realize that he'd just had sex with another man. He didn't look quite so shaken as some of the "straight" men Greg had slept with over the years. But he certainly looked a bit off balance.

"Oh, it's fine." He waved his hand absently. "I'll zip up my jacket."

"All right then," Greg nodded.

He leaned over and pressed another, somewhat gentler kiss against John's mouth. The doctor didn't pull away. He returned it, if not a bit uncertainly.

Greg called him a cab and walked him out to the curb.

"So... see you around then," John nodded.

"Yeah. See you," Greg smiled.

[][][][][][]

The next time, Greg didn't want to be drunk. He invited John over, making some excuse about giving him some old cold cases to take to Sherlock. But of course, almost the second John walked through the door, Greg pinned him against the wall.

He didn't dive in right away. He waited. Their mouths hovering centimeters away from each other. He could feel John's breath on his cheek.

Then John tipped forward. Just enough to press their lips together. And that was enough. Greg took over from there, plundering John's mouth. He could practical feel the smaller man's heart racing. John reached out and clutched at Greg's hips, perhaps for support. And then, when Greg had gotten John good and frazzled, he pulled back a bit.

"Do you want to play?" He grinned, pressing their erections together. "I'm going to tie you to my bed, and tease you until you break." Greg brushed their cheeks together. Dragging two days worth of stubble over John's smooth skin.

John shivered. He wasn't fighting to get away. But he was tense. Nervous. Fight or flight.

"If it becomes too much for you to handle, you say _red_, and I'll stop. No questions asked, no hesitation." Greg said in a low voice, right next to John's ear. The he grinned lazily, and returned to a normal speaking tone. "Come on whore. We've got business to attend to."

He hooked a finger into the belt loop of John's jeans and tugged him off towards the bedroom. John followed. Just like a good little dog.

[][][][][][]

At first, Greg took it easy on John. Worked him up slowly with simple things. Nice padded cuffs. A few love bites here and there. And one, very memorable, bare arsed spanking. It was all hands and skin sliding against skin. Because Greg didn't want to scare him off.

The first test came when Greg had John down on his knees, completely naked, and wearing a lovely collar. He'd used a whip to paint several angry red lines across John's back. And he'd decided to push it a bit further.

Greg unzipped his trousers and took his cock out. Then he stood right in front of John. The tip of his prick almost touched the doctor's lips...

"Suck it, whore," he barked. In the usual tone he used when they played these games.

For a moment, John floundered. He seemed torn. Greg wondered if he'd crossed the line. They'd never really talked about how far John was willing to go. But he figured, if John really didn't want to, he'd let Greg know. So the tension held.

Then, the smaller man parted his lips and tentatively slid the head of Greg's cock into his mouth. His inexperience was obvious. But every bloke knows what they like in a blowjob. So before long, he was massaging the underside of Greg's prick with his tongue, letting Greg thrust shallowly between his lips.

And god, his mouth was glorious. Slick and warm and sloppier by the minute. John didn't swallow. Perhaps he was afraid to. But as a consequence, the drool began to run down his chin and it was fucking gorgeous.

"There's a good boy," Greg panted. He fisted his hands in John's short blonde hair to keep himself steady as much as anything. "Now touch yourself."

John wrapped a hand around his own cock and began stroking himself. Greg loved watching him. Because at first, his motions were always self-conscious. But then, as he continued, he got lost in the pleasure of it.

"That's it. You're such a pretty little cock whore." Greg pushed a bit deeper into John's mouth.

John, moaned. The vibration made Greg see stars. The smaller man started breathing faster. Touching himself with a bit more intention.

"One of these days," Greg growled, "I'm going to fill that delicious arse of yours. I'm going to fuck you until you shout, and moan, and come all over yourself."

He felt John gag a bit. He must have pushed in a bit too far. He tried to back off a bit. But John followed him, leaned forward.

Well fancy that.

"Oh, so you like choking on my cock, do you?" Greg growled.

John couldn't exactly respond. But Greg started thrusting deeper into his mouth anyway. The tip of his cock hit the back of John's throat. And fuck. John swallowed and his muscles contracted gloriously.

It couldn't have been easy for John to breathe like that. But it didn't seem to matter. Because suddenly John tensed, and groaned, and then he came. His ejaculate splattered messily across the floor. He shuddered, and then went slack.

Greg continued to fuck his mouth, chasing down his own pleasure. John seemed content to just kneel there and let Greg use him.

It built quickly. The heat pooled, rising in him like a wildfire. He wasn't sure whether he should come down John's throat, or on his face. Both good options.

He decided he really wanted to see his come on John's lips. So he pulled back. He grasped his cock and gave himself one, two, three good strokes. Then he crashed over the edge of orgasm. He watched, breathing heavily, as he painted a stripe of thick come across John's cheek, then his lips, and then his chin.

John's tongue flicked out, perhaps unconsciously, and he licked up some of Greg's ejaculate.

Fuck.

Greg tucked himself back into his trousers and kneeled. He carefully loosed the clasp of John's collar. He cupped John's chin and kissed him.

End scene.

[][][][][][]

"I like it when you force me," John murmured quietly. They were sprawled across Greg's couch. Curled up in the dark living room. Naked, and sweaty, and utterly spent.

The only time John ever initiated such conversations was with the lights off. With his head pressed against Greg's chest. No eye contact.

"I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?" Greg asked as he stroked a hand down John's back.

John had come over to watch a football game. Then afterwards, Greg manhandled him. More than usual. He'd shoved him down to his knees and started fucking his mouth. He hadn't asked if John was in the mood to play. Hadn't given him any kind of warning.

And _god_ it had been the best blowjob of Greg's life.

"I'll probably have bruises on my knees for a bit," John shrugged, "but they'll go away… you can do that more often, if you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't let you do it if I didn't like it. I think we both know I could take you in a fight," John chuckled. But then his voice dropped down. A bit more serious. "I guess… there's something really raw and dangerous about it. When you just use me however you want, and act like you don't care if I'm enjoying it."

And those words made Greg's heart thud a little faster. Because that was an awful lot of power to give somebody.

Permission to push limits.

Permission to _take_ instead of offer.

"I do care, though. You know that, right?" Greg said softly.

"Yeah, I know."

And they could have been talking about a lot of things. But Greg thought it was better not to chase down a conversation they weren't ready to have. Instead he wrapped his arms around John's waist and held him tightly. It felt good. John was more than just a warm body—someone to use and then say goodbye to in the morning. He was a good friend and a fantastic shag, and sometimes Greg wished they'd met each other a bit earlier in life. Maybe they could have built something on steadier ground. Been people other than an injured army doctor, and an aging, divorced, Detective Inspector.

But then again, perhaps things were perfect as they would get. After all, broken people tended to fit together better than nice, sane, well adjusted people ever could.

[][][][][][]

Greg had tied John's wrists to the bedposts with thread. The bond would break if John tested the restraints in the slightest. But Greg had told him, specifically, _do not move your arms._ And so far, John had been doing a fine job of keeping still while Greg sucked bruises onto his inner thighs.

John lay flat on his back, completely naked. His face had that dazed, almost blank look he got whenever Greg gave him ridiculous orders. Greg was fully clothed, because that was how they did things. John had whispered once, after they'd finished for the day, that he liked Greg in a suit. John had whispered that it made him feel wonderfully exposed and powerless, to be naked, when Greg was completely dressed.

The DI straightened up, sitting between John's spread legs. He ran his finger lovingly across the trail of angry, purple contusions he'd just created on John's flesh. Then he grabbed hold of John's legs and arranged them how he wanted them. Feet flat on the bed. Knees bent. John stayed loose. Breathing heavy. Eyes closed.

Then, Greg reached into his pocket for a small tube of lubricant. He flicked the cap open and squeezed it onto his fingers.

John didn't seem to be paying that much attention. He didn't see what was coming. So the smaller man jolted with surprise, when Greg slid a slick finger between his arse cheeks and brushed it across his hole.

"_Jesus_," he breathed, forgetting himself for a moment. He had specific orders not to speak unless spoken to.

"I don't remember giving you permission to say anything, slut," Greg cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, Sir." John bit his lip.

Greg moved his finger, in slow, teasing motions. Circling John's entrance, but not trying to press inside it quite yet. John didn't seem to know how to process the sensation. He squirmed a bit.

But he didn't verbally protest the direction things were headed in. He kept his arms still. Slowly, ever so slowly, Greg slid his finger inside John's body. The doctor's muscles clenched involuntarily. Greg's cock throbbed, pressing uncomfortably against his trousers.

John's eyes widened. He went tense. Entirely still. He didn't even breathe. Because maybe this was too far. Greg didn't move. He just waited. Then John let out a small gasp. He relaxed somewhat. Greg took it as a sign to continue.

He worked his finger in and out of John's body with slow, but insistent motions. He just barely grazed against the right spot, and John made a small, surprised sound. Greg slipped another finger in, and repeated his previous motion. John's hips rocked upward unconsciously.

"That's it," Greg said in a low, steady tone, "it feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Sir," John barely whispered.

And they stayed like that for quite some time. Greg gently fucking John with two fingers, eventually three. John stayed still, for the most part. Looked a bit like a little fawn in the headlights of a roaring semi truck. But he hadn't moved his wrists. Hadn't broken the thread. Hadn't said, _I'm uncomfortable with this._

A lack of protest was not the same thing as permission. Greg knew that. But he also knew John liked it better if he pretended not to care.

So he withdrew his fingers from John's body and unzipped his trousers. He pulled out his cock and rolled on a condom. Because he was in a generous mood, he slicked up with a bit more lubricant.

John bit down on his lower lip as Greg pressed the head of his cock against the smaller man's entrance. There was a tense moment, where it didn't seem like John's body would let him in. But then Greg's prick slid forward a few centimeters and they both groaned.

Greg leaned forward, dropped down so that their bodies pressed against each other. He began to rock into John slowly, pushing deeper in small increments. John breathed heavily. He was so tight. Greg almost couldn't handle it. Almost lost his nerve and retreated.

But then, he was all the way in. John seemed to relax a bit. Greg kept his motions languid and steady. Before long John was panting. Every so often, Greg managed to thrust in just the right way, and John would moan.

And he felt so fucking _good_. Every time Greg sank into him, it created a wonderful drag of pleasure. It set off sparks of electric heat. Greg could feel John's erection rubbing against his abdomen through the fabric of his shirt. When they kissed, John tasted like sweat, and adrenaline, and pure sin.

Greg started to pick up a bit of speed. John's every breath came out as a small whimper. His legs wrapped around Greg's waist.

The bed creaked rhythmically. John became progressively louder. He didn't actually _say _anything, so he technically wasn't breaking the rules. But god, he was a moaner. The sounds he made were deep. Decidedly masculine. But still a bit breathy, and choked, and glorious.

Greg angled upwards and started in on the shallow, more rapid thrusts, and John lost it completely.

_"Fuck_," he drew the word out for several syllables.

Greg would have yelled at him for talking, except he could hardly think. Because John looked completely wrecked. Sweaty, and flushed, and perfect. Greg reached between them, wrapped a hand around John's prick and began to stroke it.

"You don't come until I say you can," Greg managed to get the words out somehow.

"Oh Jesus… I… _please_," John practically sobbed.

Greg felt John start to tense. He stopped moving entirely. John groaned. Bucked his hips upwards in frustration.

"Sir," he whispered, "I need it."

"You need what exactly?" Greg mouthed at John's jaw.

"Your cock."

"Good answer," the DI grinned. He began to thrust again. He stroked John's prick slowly. The doctor made a few little strangled sounds before he managed to collect himself enough to speak.

"May I please come, Sir?"

"You're such a greedy little whore. You've got not patience whatsoever."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"I don't think you are."

"I—please_—Greg_…"

And that was too much. Hearing John say his name like _that_. Full of longing and pure desperation. Greg felt the heat rise abruptly. The arousal lurched through him. Crested. He felt the crash coming. Inevitable. He wouldn't be able to stop.

"Now," Greg grunted.

And John came. The second Greg said he could, he shuddered. His muscles clenched around Greg's prick, and that sent the DI reeling over the edge. The pleasure pulsed through him with a frightening intensity, then slowly tapered off.

He collapsed. Lay on top of John for a minute, while they both tried to catch their breath. Then he withdrew, tied off the condom, and threw it in the rubbish.

Greg pulled at the threads around John's wrists. They broke easily. Then he lay down next to John and gathered the smaller man into his arms. John melted into him. Went completely slack against him.

And sometimes, this was the best part. Comforting somebody after they'd let you take everything they had. They were silent for a long while.

"You ok?" Greg asked, because it was polite and because he wanted to know.

"Yeah… I'll be a bit sore I think, but… yeah." John paused for a few beats. "I've never done anything like that before."

"Did you like it?"

"It was really intense—but I think I did."

"Good."

And the quiet settled in again, draping over the room like a thick blanket. Greg thought about saying a lot of things. Silly things. Because John didn't seem like the type of bloke that would enjoy being told he was lovely or handsome or any of the other empty words people threw out as compliments.

He could say John was perfect, but that wouldn't be true either. They both obviously had more than a few screws loose—cavorting about London with Sherlock Holmes and risking their lives on a daily basis. John did it for the thrill of the chase. Greg did it because it was his job. But the end result wasn't so very different.

Maybe those were just excuses, because he didn't want to upset the fragile balance they were straddling. Because he liked John, and he didn't need things to get overly complicated.

"Hey," John said softly, turning his head to look up at Greg.

"Yeah?"

"Don't go looking all wistful. We both just got laid, and I won't be able to walk properly for a week—so you'd better enjoy the goddamned afterglow."

Greg chuckled. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a mouthy little bastard?"

"I'm pretty sure that's what every single one of my report cards said in primary school," the doctor yawned.

"Yeah, well, I bet I could fuck it out of you." Greg nipped at John's neck.

"Careful now. You don't want to promise what you can't deliver."

Greg smacked John's arse playfully. In retaliation, John rolled all the way on top of Greg and stayed there, sprawled across his chest. Greg lodged a few complaints for show, but happily wrapped his arms around John's waist and held him.

They were both sweaty, sticky and exhausted—tied up in something nameless and exciting. Lying there, shagged out and trapped under John's weight, Greg felt strangely younger. It reminded him of a time when life stretched out like an endless horizon and he still believed that two people could be happy together.

"You're really a lot of fun, Greg," John sighed contentedly.

"Yeah, so are you."

And for the moment, that was all either of them needed to say.

* * *

_Special thanks to Shadowfire RavenPheonix for commissioning this here depravity._

_Interested in making me your personal smut puppet? Lord knows I love writing porn, and I love it even more when I'm getting paid for it._

_Check out the commissions page of my tumblr (taylorpotato . tumblr tagged / commissions) or shoot me an email: taylorpotato at yahoo. com._


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